


Born out of Dreams

by EllaStorm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late at night Sam wakes up in the middle of a storm, left with the lingering images of a dream about Dean. Words slip over his lips that he never should have said out loud. Dean listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born out of Dreams

Sam woke up to the noise of raindrops cracking against the window with the force of bullets and the sound of the storm outside that seemed to be trying to enter the building with its insistent, erratic howls. The motel room was immersed in darkness, and Sam shifted on his bed, trying to find a more comfortable position to lie in. His heart was beating fast and his pillow was damp with quickly-cooling sweat – _that must have been what woke me up,_ he thought, _not the rain or the wind. Another nightmare._

But as soon as he turned on his belly, feeling the scratch of the bedsheet beneath his bare thighs and involuntarily grinding his nether regions against the mattress he realised that he was wrong. _Oh. Not a nightmare._ All of a sudden a picture flashed before his inner eye, something out of a dream, foggy and incoherent, out of context – but still – if that’s what he had been dreaming about… Sam shifted again, trying to suppress a groan, and buried his face in the pillow, holding his breath as long as he could. _What the fuck is wrong with you, Sam?_ Eventually he had to come back up for air, gasping as quietly as possible, before he rolled around on his side, taking the friction away from his cock, so it would maybe, maybe, decide to leave him alone. He closed his eyes – and opened them again immediately, because the pictures came back, dancing beneath his closed lids, taunting and teasing the parts of his consciousness that were not completely awake just yet. _Goddamn._ Being dragged back to his senses like that, at least partially, Sam finally came to the conclusion that it was probably best to get it the fuck over with, so he could rest, instead of lying around with a raging hard-on between his legs, waiting for sleep that would never come. Even if the things that he had dreamt about, the things that had made him hard in the first place, were completely twisted. _Then don’t think about them. Think about something else._

Sam sighed as he slipped one hand into his boxers, and followed his own advice, let his thoughts drift, carefully avoiding the dangerous corner of his mind containing the pictures that were forbidden. The pictures that only came out when Sam was not in control of himself. He clenched his jaw and thought of that girl in his class, Kelly, thought of her sparkling blue eyes, of her lush lips, what it would feel like to kiss them, what it would feel like to slip a hand beneath her shirt and caress her skin, her breasts, her nipples, how she would look on her knees, mouth wrapped around his cock, those lush lips and green eyes – _blue eyes, Sam, her eyes are blue._

But it was too late. The images from his dream had snuck back into his mind, silently, persistently, and Sam was too far gone to be able to shut them out. Suddenly Kelly’s eyes were indeed a vivid green and her hair was cropped and spiked up with too much gel, and she wasn’t on her knees any more, no, she was crowding Sam against a wall now, dull gold hanging from her neck on a leather cord as she gripped his ass and pushed her hips against his, whispering delicious filth in his ears in a harsh, deep voice. _You like that, baby boy? Want me to fuck you? Lay you out on the bed and have my way with you, pound your sweet little ass so hard you can’t sit for a week?_ Sam stroked his cock faster, rhythm speeding up, and a silent moan escaped his lips when his thumb found the bundle of nerve endings right beneath the head. _Yes, Dean, ohmyGOD, just do it, do it, FUCK me._

His eyelids fluttered close and open again, but he didn’t see, not really, lost in that different reality, that reality where his brother wanted him, needed him, _loved_ him like that. “Do you really want me to do that?” Sam froze, stilling his movements completely at the raspy voice next to him, a voice directly from his fantasy, inserted into the Here and Now. _Ohfuckinghellpleaseno, please let this not be real, please let this not be him._ He should have known better. The universe was never that merciful. “Sammy?”, the voice demanded. He opened his eyes – and probably would have jumped out of bed right thereafter, hadn’t his bones suddenly turned into a jelly-like substance, seeping out of him and into the mattress, leaving his body behind as a molten wreck, while his heart jackhammered against his ribs, like it wanted to break out and bounce over the floor into the next corner.

A Dean-shaped silhouette stood looming over him, so close that he could smell it, that mixture of leather and motor-oil that seemed to follow his brother everywhere, even into bed, and that was better than any girl’s perfume in this world could ever be. _He saw me. He HEARD me._ “I-“, Sam managed, but his voice gave up on him. He felt like he was going out of his mind, forgetting what was up and what was down, all of him focused on his brother, thoughts circling, making his head spin, the sound of rain and storm from outside dying down, muted. “You said it out loud, you know”, Dean explained calmly. “Guess you didn’t notice. But”, he paused, “do you really want me to do it?”

Sam still found himself unable to speak, but somehow his body went back online before his mind could make a decision, and his hand twitched upwards, grabbing the next thing it could, which happened to be the front of the shirt Dean slept in, warm, soft fabric. Dean let himself be pulled downwards, and then, _how is this possible_ , lifted the covers and climbed into Sam’s bed, all heat and scent and warm skin over muscles and bones. “I suppose” A hand found Sam’s cheek, rough fingertips on smooth skin, stroking softly, reverently. “That’s an answer.”

And then there were lips on Sam’s, full lips, lips he had dreamt about at night and never let himself think about in the harsh light of day, but somehow the darkness made those forbidden things possible, made it possible that Dean was actually kissing him, deep and slow, made it possible for him to kiss back, let his tongue slip in and twist his fingers into Dean’s hair. He didn’t know how much time passed in this magic space between sheets and endless possibilities from one second to the next, before Dean’s hand crept lower, from his cheek over his neck, his chest, in the direction of heat and bloodhard flesh. “Tell me no”, he whispered against Sam’s lips. “Tell me no and I’ll stop, little brother.”

A shiver ran down Sam’s spine at these words, and all he was capable of doing was to kiss Dean, hard, gripping the back of his head and biting his bottom lip in a wordless expression of _do it_ , when his hand glided into Sam’s pants, wringing a whimper out of his throat. “’S it good? Like you imagined?”, Dean asked, his voice barely there, rougher than sandpaper, skilful fingers on his cock making noises pour out of Sam’s mouth that sounded just as desperate and needy as he felt. “You gonna come for me? Just like this?” Dean’s forehead pressed against his, words silent and drawled out. “Gonna come with my hand down your pants, making all those dirty little sounds?” And Sam lost it, world whiting out at the edges, warm, sticky splatter of come soaking his underwear, and an endless loop of _DeanDeanDean_ sighed out into the dark room, echoed between the walls, circling back and forth.

“Yeah, Sammy.” Dean’s hand left him, but his lips found Sam’s again, bringing him back to earth; and Sam kissed back, wishing for a crazy, stupid moment that he could crawl in under Dean’s skin and stay there, to feel forever like this, forever part of him, forever whole. “Wanna make you come, too”, he breathed, as soon as they let go of each other for a second. “You don’t have to – _Jesus_.” Sam’s fingers slid down Dean’s boxer-briefs without further ado, wrapping around him. It felt strange to have another man’s dick in his hand, like the angle was all messed-up, but the feeling passed, and to know that Dean was making these pretty moans because of him was more than amazing.

It didn’t take very long to bring Dean off, make him spill in hot spurts over Sam’s fist, half-growling, half-gasping out his name; and afterwards they kissed again, languidly, spent, unable to form words or to get out of bed once more to clean up. Dean’s hand was tangled in Sam’s hair, and Sam’s face was mashed into his brother’s side, his mind trying to find a way to wrap around this incomprehensible thing that had just happened, something born out of dreams and wrapped into layers of darkness, never meant to be real, to be this, to be them. After a while he just gave up and accepted it, accepted that impossible things happened during the night. Whatever was to come in the morning – this, here, now was a carved-out piece of heaven he would store safely in his head and heart, never to be lost, never to be forgotten.

The rain kept painting the windows in splashes of broken water, and the storm kept howling, but Sam fell asleep only seconds later, his brother’s heartbeat in tune with his own.


End file.
